A Familiar Stranger
by AgentInvaderMinionofDoom
Summary: Takes place when Spn ends; Cas had erased Sam and Dean's memories of him, but when Dean finds him dying in a park and tries to help him, will he remember who the mysterious stranger in the trenchcoat is? T for character death and angsty Destiel, possibly?


**Author's Note: I'm back! (From the dead.) Lol jk. I didn't die, don't worry. I just moved to a city void of creative people, didn't have Internet, and lost my password, but it's all okay now. I started watching Supernatural and it got my creative juices flowing again, I went to the library, and I remembered my password.  
I'm kinda new-ish to this fandom, so I hope I got the characters right. I don't really know where this story came from; all I know is that I have a bit of an obsession with Castiel but, well, with this story, I'm just as confused as the rest of you. Oh well, I'm just glad I'm writing again. 3**

**Title:****A Familiar Stranger****  
****Fandom:**** Supernatural**

**Summary:****Takes place when Spn ends; Cas had erased Sam and Dean's memories of him, but when Dean finds him dying in a park and tries to help him, will he remember who the mysterious stranger in the trenchcoat is? T for character death and angsty Destiel, possibly?****  
****Genre:**** Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort****  
****Rating:****T (13+)****  
****Word Count:**** approx. 1300****  
****Pairings:****Destiel, possibly?**

**Warning: Character death, blood, and lots of pain and misery.**

The hunt went just as planned, and Dean was on his way to pick up some pie to celebrate. Sam insisted he walk a whole five blocks to get it, arguing that Dean should at least attempt to live a healthier lifestyle. The older Winchester scoffed. They were hunters. Almost nothing they did led to a "healthier lifestyle".

Lost in thoughts full of pie, Dean almost didn't notice the faint whimpering sound, but his sensitive ears, due to years of hunting, picked up on it. Subconsciously, he made his way in the approximate direction he heard the noises. He heard it again, louder this time. It was a pathetic, sad sound, like a lost, hurt puppy would make, but on closer inspection, Dean noticed a huddled figure hiding in the shadow of a cluster of trees near the entrance of a park.

It appeared to be a man with ruffled, brown hair in a filthy, beige trenchcoat, crouched down in the dirt. Dean's heart went out to the man, whom he assumed was homeless.

It was almost 10 PM, and the temperature was close to freezing. Dean stopped walking.

Maybe it was because of the way the man was curled in a ball on the ground or Dean's own feeling of helplessness, but he couldn't just walk by without doing... something. The celebratory pie forgotten, Dean crossed the street to the park and rushed over to the man.

Almost immediately, he knew something was wrong with the way the man in the trenchcoat was breathing — the hunter knew from experience that he was seriously injured, and in these temperatures, it was surprising he wasn't already dead. He knelt down beside him and inhaled sharply.

The man was seriously bleeding and had one hand pressed against the gushing wound. With the other bloodstained hand, he reached out to Dean. His breathing was with obvious effort. His blue eyes, clouded with pain, met Dean's, and without thinking, he took his hand in an act of comfort.

"Don't worry, I'll get you help," Dean said this as he was pulling out his phone. "What happened? Were you attacked?" The man in the trenchcoat's grip started to slack. "Hey! Stay with me, c'mon, how did this happen?" Dean desperately asked, thinking of the monster they had just finished hunting. He dialed Sam's phone; when Sam picked up with a "Dean? Are you okay?", the man started to say something, but was interrupted by a violent coughing fit.

"Sam, there's a man that needs help. I'm in a park on Washington Street. Bring a first-aid kit," Dean commanded.

"Dean, what–?"

"No time to explain, Sam. Just hurry!" Dean hung up and turned his attention back to the weak man.

He coughed again, then began to talk, "I... I was stabbed. It was... a man in black. I couldn't see his face. He wanted my wallet, but I wouldn't give it to him, so he stabbed me." He sighed heavily and looked away, the pain in his eyes all too apparent. "Just... leave me here. I don't want your help."

Dean didn't answer. The man's deep, velvety voice sounded so incredibly familiar. For the first time, he really looked at him. He was wearing a business suit and tie that were spattered with his own blood. He had a handsome face and appeared to be in his 30s. But perhaps the most interesting thing of all was the overwhelming sense of deja vu the Winchester had when he looked at him. Like... he knew him in a past life or something. "Do I know you?" Dean abruptly asked.

The man turned to look at Dean. The simple movement caused him unmistakable pain. He didn't say anything; he scrutinized Dean for such a long time, he started to think he wasn't going to answer. Dean squirmed under the man's intense gaze.

Finally he said, "My name is Castiel." Dean blinked. The name sounded so familiar, but he was sure he would have remembered such an impressionable person with such a peculiar name. Maybe he was famous or something. Dean let it go for the moment. "Please, just leave me be. I don't want your help," Castiel spoke up. He wasn't looking at Dean; his eyes were distant and unfocused.

"Well, too late. I already called my brother and we're going to help you. It's kind of what we do," Dean remarked, ignoring Castiel's pleas. "So you say you got mugged?" Dean said. There was something really strange about this man, wearing a business suit wondering around at 10 PM in a park. Call him crazy, but Dean didn't completely believe him.

"Yes," was the only thing Castiel got out before he started coughing up blood. Dean cursed and started to stand, but Castiel held up a hand. "I'm... fine," he mumbled. When he could somewhat breathe again, he said, "Call your brother back... and tell him not to come. Or... go home with him... and leave me here. _I don't want your help."_

Dean swore. "So you _want_ to die? Listen, I'm not gonna leave you here to freeze or bleed to death!"

Castiel didn't respond; instead he looked down at the ground in a way that reminded Dean of a puppy that had been punished. For some reason, Dean was compelled to help this stranger, despite his suspicions that he wasn't telling the whole truth. There was something eerily familiar about this stranger; he just couldn't put his finger on it.

All of a sudden, Dean's blood ran cold. Castiel had slumped over and didn't appear to be breathing.

"Castiel? Hey! Cas!" With numb, shaking fingers, he checked Castiel's neck for a pulse, his own heart skipping a beat. Dean let out breath he wasn't aware he was holding when he felt a flutter of life, of blood beating underneath his pale skin. _Where the hell is Sam?_ and _I don't care what you want or who you are, you're going to live,_ dominated his thoughts as he desperately worked to save the dying man.

However, his efforts were in vain, he realized within seconds. Dean was no doctor, but he knew when there was no hope for someone who was already gone. He sat in silence for a few seconds, not bothering to wipe off the still warm blood of the now dead man.

Dean looked at his body, limp and colorless, dead blue eyes still looking down at the ground. He lowered his eyelids. He could have been sleeping. But of course the hunter knew better.

Suddenly, Dean remembered everything. He remembered Castiel, the angel that pulled him out of Hell, who he was and everything about him. His odd way of talking, the way he would appear out of thin air when you least expected it, the frightening side of him that would kill mercilessly, and the completely clueless Cas that hadn't the slightest idea how humans worked. Dean remembered how he had become an ally, then a friend, and eventually something more. How he had walked out of their lives just as easily as he had walked in.

And now he was dead. Dean had watched him die right in front of his eyes. And he could do nothing about it.

Cas was dead. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. Dean dropped to all fours, the pain too fresh and clear and sudden. _Cas was dead._

Tears rolled down his cheek in a relentless torrent. A horrible noise full of suffering rang in his ears. He realized the noise was coming from himself. He was beyond caring. The only thing he was capable of doing was clinging to Castiel's beige trenchcoat, burying his face in the familiar smell and sobbing until the Impala's headlights cut through his misery and pain, and Sam also remembered and realized and mourned the death of their beloved angel, Castiel.

**Author's Note: I apologize if I made anyone sob uncontrollably; I don't know where this came from. I'll admit, I cried rereading it. I love reviews, wink wink. But, please, be gentle. This is my first Spn fic and the first thing I've written in almost a year. So I would appreciate feedback! 3**


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